


(Im)perfection

by orphan_account



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fluff, Max is the usual dork, No sad crap ending this time, This is happy I swear it, Victoria is kinda tsundere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 12:57:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6154438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victoria Chase is queen. The very earth bends to her will. </p><p>Victoria Chase, expert charmer and wordsmith. Picture perfect elegance. The epitome of class and luxury. Master of self-control and keeping emotions in check. The unbreakable one. Personified perfection.<br/>And she is coming undone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Im)perfection

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I did a thing! :D A happy thing!
> 
> I suppose this takes place in an AU where everyone kind of gets along and Victoria is a goddess with no insecurities whatsoever, aka, the Victoria Victoria should be. 
> 
> Seriously, Victoria is my queen. I'm not sure if I want this infatuation to stop or continue.  
> (I know I end up breaking her in my fics most times and I'm sorry for that but srsly Vic is love Vic is life)
> 
> I initially intended for this to go into Snippets, because The 1975's newest album (screw the long title) had a lot to do with this, particularly The Sound and This Must Be My Dream but the length bothered me so here it is, its own post. 
> 
> Anyway, here you go. Enjoy!

Victoria Chase is queen.

The very earth bends to her will. If she just had her hair done yesterday, the next day it will be beautifully sunny and bright. If she catches a cold, by some miracle of nature her classes will be cancelled. Feeling too warm? No problem, your majesty, have a bit of drizzle and breeze. Too cold? Look, it's the sun!

Even Nathan knows when and when not to approach Victoria. Visits from Aunt Flo are a no-brainer (seriously, completely off-limits, suicide mission) but the moment she gets that funny wrinkle between her brows, he knows well enough to back off.

(Especially after that one time he made the mistake of talking to her anyway during one of those bad times. Talk about eye of the tiger. Or, face of the tiger.)

You just know with Victoria. Just know that she must be pleased whatever the circumstances. Step away from the drinking fountain if she wants a drink, let her cut in line during lunch, give her that one precious pen your grandnana gave you last Christmas when she asks for a pen. It's just the way things are.

Victoria exists, and the world must please her. Everything must fall into place as she means them to. Everything must be perfect.

And everything is perfect. Blackwell is her throne. She is royalty among the classless Blackwell rabble, ruling with an iron (and beautifully manicured) fist, smiling with charm and sneering with ferocity. With her position at the top of the Vortex Club, her grades more than satisfactory, breathtaking supply of money, blatant beauty, and the general smoothness of her life, she is satisfied.

Yes, everything is perfect.

For a time.

The first ripples in Victoria's otherwise perfectly flowing life come in the form of a new student. Brown hair, blue eyes, thin, thoroughly unimpressive body, terrible sense of style. This... this girl, this alien to her perfect world, introduces herself at the start of of the school year in stutters.

"Max Caulfield." Is what she says. So the intruder has a name.

Not that she matters. Just a new student, Victoria can whip her into shape and in place in no time. Stuttering introverts are the best kind to corner. In two days, this Max Caulfield will understand the ways of Victoria Chase and she will fall in line behind her with the rest of the world.

And everything will go back to being perfect.

Except, when Victoria approaches her after class, grabs her by the gross cuff of her hoodie sleeve to get her attention, nothing goes as planned.

Max whirls and stares at her with wide eyes. Wide, blue, so _madly_ , _brightly_ , blue eyes, and freckles all over her cheeks and nose that light up one by one at the proximity. In the afternoon silhouette, her chin is exquisite. The nose that looked so small in front of the class looks so fine, so shapely up close. And _good grief_ those plump, pouty _lips_ -

Max stutters, "C-can I help you?" and Victoria only stares, the words dying on her tongue.

Victoria Chase, expert charmer and wordsmith, is at a loss for words.

She manages a wordless, pathetic whining noise that follows her out of the room with her heavy stomps. The corridors clear for the queen and her irrational rage.

Fucking Max Caulfield.

* * *

 

Taylor and Courtney (such good slaves) pamper her with coffee and another manicure come that evening as she vents about the insulting display earlier that day. The nerve, really, _the nerve_. Victoria, _speechless?_

Humanity must suffer.

Or, just the coffee Taylor got her. She throws it out the window with a growl and ruins her new manicure in the process.

* * *

 

The next morning, Victoria rises like the beautiful flower with thorns that she is. Today will be perfect. Today she'll make up for the disaster yesterday. Today, she'll put Max Caulfield in line and keep her there, a good little minion in the background of Victoria's flawlessness and brilliance.

Yes, today will be a good day.

She showers, dresses, puts on her make-up and double checks the day's itinerary. Classes, lunch, classes, dinner, Vortex Club party. She squeezes Max Caulfield somewhere in her agenda, twice just to be sure.

Perfect.

Victoria is a floating ethereal being as she struts out of her room. Immaculate posture, glowing skin (amazing lotion, so worth the money) and beautiful, beautiful face. Today will be a good day. Today will be perfect. Today will go as planned -

The door across from her is ajar and through the gap, she sees Max Caulfield.

The tiny alien is pulling a shirt off her head. She might be thin but her back is smooth, pale and flawless even with all the freckles splashed over the atlas of her body. The slopes of her ribs flow and dip dramatically into a fine waist and then flare shyly into narrow hips.

The shirt comes off and the shorts follow and - _so. Many. Freckles._

But then Max looks over her shoulder and their eyes lock. Victoria panics.

Victoria Chase, picture perfect elegance, flounders.

She gasps and chokes on her own spit (what the hell what the fuck _what the what_ ) and stumbles sideways. The shock carries her two unsteady steps away before she recovers. After that she's running, dashing for dear life, her face down to her chest boiling with an unbridled heat she can't quite put a name to.

She ruins her make-up with sweat. The outfit for the day is wrinkled from running.

Fucking Max Caulfield.

* * *

 

Victoria watches Max day in and day out, week after week. She hates that tiny alien, landing on her perfect world and stepping all over her perfect grounds and perfect plans and perfect everything. She hates that ridiculous polaroid camera she always carries around. Hates her unbelievably cheap sense of style and infuriating stuttering (Victoria is convinced at this point that idiotic sputtering is Max's native tongue.) Absolutely despises her trashy music and stupid guitar tunes.

So. Hipster. Trash. _Ugh_.

Victoria especially hates that journal-whatever Max drags around and writes in every living minute of every day. God, if she looked away from that journal for a second, then maybe she'd notice Victoria's hate and take a hint and just stop existing in her perfect world -

Max turns and catches her staring. Victoria flinches, accidentally drops her pencil that goes rolling off her table and falls to the floor.

There's a tense pause before Max gets off her chair, crouching (but not away from view, because of course Victoria's eyes follow her all throughout.) She gets up and very slowly, so cautiously, returns Victoria's pencil to her. She hands it over and their hands brush, cursory physical contact, and Victoria catches a whiff of her perfume. Tangy, floral, and so, so good.

Victoria Chase, the epitome of class and luxury, thinks cheap hipster perfume smells good.

Max goes back to her seat and carries on. Continues breathing Victoria's air, continues existing in Victoria's kingdom.

Fucking Max Caulfield.

* * *

 

Taylor and Courtney do as they're told. They come into Victoria's room late at night and hand over a single piece of paper, a piece of paper which Victoria critically scans with an arched brow. She takes note of each line printed.

"This is everything?" She asks blandly. "All of it?"

"Yes," Taylor answers. "All Max's friends. Where she hangs out, her classes besides Photography -"

"Restaurants? Food she likes? Things she likes? All of it?"

"As far as we were able to gather." Courtney says, giving Taylor a curious side eye.

Victoria nods mechanically and glosses her eyes over the paper again. Such a short list.

"Victoria?" Taylor hedges slowly and Victoria hums her inquiry. "Why are you... why are we investigating Max?"

Victoria's eyes snap up. Taylor and Courtney immediately stiffen on their spot. "You can go now." She says through gritted teeth and the both of them nod quickly before turning tail. They dash out of the room.

The week after, Victoria grabs Max by the shoulder and drags her bumbling away from a surprised Kate Marsh. She sputters questions, expletives, pleas (how adorable) and continues doing so as Victoria pulls them to a stop near some lockers.

"Wh-what - I-I - y-you -"

"Go out with me." Victoria commands. Max's jaw loses a screw and pries wide open. She stares at Victoria in that annoying (endearing) deer-in-headlights look and blinks, once, twice, thrice, before scrunching her nose. A freckle gets trapped in the wrinkles.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Go out with me," Victoria repeats, tension and nerves making her voice raise a pitch, but only slightly. Warmth is bubbling up her neck. "The Two Whales. Later, at lunch time. I'll treat you to a sundae and some fries."

Item no. 8 in Taylor and Courtney's list - sundaes and fries at the Two Whales.

Max's eyebrows ride so high up on her face Victoria thinks for a minute they'll get eaten up by her hair. But she grins after a thoughtful pause and Victoria's brain decides to cease existing. "Um. Sure. Okay. I guess. I'd like that."

She leaves Victoria with a small wave and another smile, ambling back over to Kate. Victoria doesn't trust herself to breathe until Max is far, far away and there aren't anymore signs of cheap hipster perfume, blue eyes, freckles, and stupid cheeky smiles. She feels her pulse racing and covers her flushing face with her hands.

Victoria Chase, master of self-control and keeping emotions in check, squeals delightedly into her palms.

Fucking. Max. Caulfield.

* * *

 

Victoria sprains her ankle. She fell from a ladder while putting up banners on the Blackwell gym walls and had to be carried by minions to the nurse's quarters. The peasants fuss over their queen but she waves them off, angrily chides them for leaving behind work and repeatedly tells them she's fine. They skitter off like soldier ants returning to duty.

The nurse wraps up the sprained ankle, mushes a cold compress onto the swelling bruise on one side of her face, and leaves her sitting on the cheap, distasteful infirmary bed. Victoria had been quiet the entire treatment but now she groans when she tries getting up. Pain shoots up her leg like electric crackles and she sits back down.

The infirmary door opens and Max comes padding in, disheveled and charmingly breathless in her rush to come over. Victoria smiles at her and straightens her posture, sliding her injured ankle away from view.

"Hey," Max says with a worried lilt to her smile and tone. "How is it? Is it bad? You should be more careful around heights next time."

Victoria rolls her eyes and tries not to wince when she moves her legs. "It's fine. I'm fine. Perfectly fine," She sees fit to add the last part with a flippant twang. "It's just a stupid sprain. I'll get over it."

"How about your face? Let me see."

"No!" Victoria sputters vehemently, edging away from Max's reaching hands. But Max looks at her pointedly and purses her lips, and Victoria softens in a second. She relents, closing her eyes. The cold compress disconnects.

"... How does it look?"

"Like it hurts," Max mumbles. Victoria opens her eyes, looks up anxiously at Max who is eyeing her with furrowed brows. "Does it hurt? This? And your leg?"

"No," Victoria says automatically. Max frowns and Victoria looks down, picking at a stray thread on the thin sheets of the infirmary bed's mattress. She chews her lip thoughtfully. "A little. Yeah. I guess they do hurt."

Max hums in satisfaction and sets down the cold compress to help her lie down, lifting her injured ankle for her tenderly. Tears prick the corners of Victoria's eyes and she shuts them, sucking her tongue between her teeth.

Victoria Chase, the unbreakable one, winces and whines in pain as Max gingerly pats her bruised face with the cold compress.

Fucking Max Caulfield. Fucking. Max. Fucking. Caulfield.

* * *

 

Today will go as planned.

Today is the day of the surprise. Surprise for, well, no particular reason at all. Victoria is just a romantic, spontaneous, thoughtful person is all. Today has absolutely, 100% nothing to do with item no. 11 on Taylor and Courtney's list, which is "surprise parties." Nope, definitely not. What's that list even, anyway?

Victoria has everything set. The cake, the sundaes, the guests. She even has the perfect hipster playlist for the jam and Max's blue-haired idiot to dress up as a pirate mascot for shits and giggles. Taylor has double-checked the food and Courtney repeats instructions to the guests to stay hidden until Max comes.

But of course, as always with Max, Victoria's perfect plan doesn't go as planned. Max comes late and the sundaes end up melted in sad empty cups and sticky puddles. Warren, the shithead, gets too overzealous with the surprising act and almost ends up giving Max a panic attack. A bird poops on Juliet's head and she freaks (so much for rooftop parties.) Chloe, fucking moron, decided to bring her own present along and it completely slips her mind that puppies aren't allowed in the Prescott Dormitories.

The food have paw prints and fur all over from the puppy's jumping and running around. The cake is all over the floor, also covered in paw prints. It's also all over Max and Victoria's face.

"Where's Chloe?" Max asks when Victoria comes back up to the roof. She pats the spot next to her and Victoria plonks down despondently. Icing is smeared all over her cheeks and hair. Sweater's ruined too. So much for designer cashmere.

"Chasing the damn dog downstairs," Victoria mutters. Corny hipster music is playing. She grumbles and takes off one of her shoes, throwing it at the hi-fi in the corner. The shoe hits, the music stops but her suede goes bouncing off the roof and down the courtyard ground. "That fucking idiot. She ruined everything."

"Hey, hey, nothing's ruined," Max says with a cheeky smile. "We still got some icing left. Here," She thumbs at a spot on her own nose and licks, giggling. Victoria struggles not to smile. "See? We're still good."

And Victoria snorts, actually lets herself laugh because this girl, this unbelievable, adorable, absolutely breathtaking girl doesn't understand the importance of plans. Of perfection, of order. She actually laughs because this alien who went stepping all over her perfect world is ruining everything and Victoria can't find it in herself to mind.

Max kisses her in the ruins of a perfectly planned party gone wrong. She tastes like wild rides, spontaneous road trips, beach parties without the beer, takeout dinners, mismatched shoes. Blurry photographs, rainstorms in summer, bad hair days, the wrong brand of milk. Max tastes like imperfection.

Victoria wants all that. All that imperfection.

Victoria Chase, personified perfection, is coming undone. And it feels more wonderful than she's willing to admit.

What the fuck, fucking Max Caulfield?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


End file.
